


Nuevos Inicios

by Miscellaneousmando



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Arguing, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, Gun Violence, Hospitalization, Light Angst, Major Character Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-07-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:48:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24672616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miscellaneousmando/pseuds/Miscellaneousmando
Summary: ||Time seemed irrelevant––all thoughts of what was to come faded away. He couldn't remember much, or if he woke up at all after being shot. It was fuzzy, and his head hurt too much to think about it. His days and nights were filled with wonderful images of his deepest desires. His love by his side and his children running amok. He had no children, Horacio realized as the endless dream drifted away. Things seemed clever now, the darkness fading away slowly. It was like he was awaking after a sleepless night. His nose burned from the distant stench of disinfectant and eyelids blinded by fluorescent lights.||What would have happened if Escobar didn't finish Carrillo off?
Relationships: Horacio Carrillo & Reader, Horacio Carrillo/Reader, Horacio Carrillo/You
Comments: 3
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

Horacio gaped wordlessly off at the sight of burning trucks and dead bodies. The pain was hardly registering anymore, leaving Horacio feeling like he just had the shit beat out of him. He did, he figured. Blood crawled up his throat and spilled from his lips—nose bleeding. He figured it was, at least. He was numb all over, and yet he felt everything at the same time. Each breath was shallower than the last––syrupy blood blocking the air. The dark span of the night sky spun around him, and Horacio barely heard the calm approach of three figures.

Escobar.

“Mírame.”

If he had the strength, Horacio would’ve spit at the monster above him. Berate and attack the blundering psycho who only brought ruin into this already cruel world. Ignoring the man’s command, Horacio continued to stare off. Pablo repeated himself, his voice seemed distant and warbled by the pounding of Horacio’s heartbeat. Hesitantly, Horacio turned his head to stare straight up at Escobar. 

Pablo circled Horacio’s head slowly, eyes trained on the injured man like a cat stalking its prey. He flashed him a bullet, one that Horacio gave to the boy in the alleyway. Broken. Distant. The words didn't register but the blurry sight of the bullet slipping into the chamber of Pablo’s gun was enough to get the message across. 

The first gunshot ripped through Horacio’s leg and all he could do was open his mouth in a silent groan. Every muscle felt like it was on fire, and Horacio was pretty damn sure he was already half-way to hell. Pablo kept talking as black blotted across Horacio’s vision, the numbness of his cooling body enough to ward off the after-effects of the shot.

“Cobarde.”

Pablo sneered, going to reload the chamber just as bullets began to whiz by. Back-up finally arrived—the wail of sirens lost to Horacio. Chaos ensued in mere seconds, and Horacio couldn’t decide if he was grateful or not for being saved. The bullets meant for Horacio pierced through the air towards soldiers, his soldiers. Escobar couldn't stay long, and he bolted with his accomplices. Glass shattered as the burning skid of tires fled the scene––yelling and more shots grew louder and closer, the ringing in Horacio’s ears buzzing louder.

Horacio laughed weakly, closing his eyes as he accepted his fate. Pablo couldn't do it himself, but there was no hope for Horacio either way. Someone was lifting him—and he wanted so badly to yell at them. To tell them to let him die here, on the ground, on this lonely street. He couldn't let you watch as he died on some hospital bed. How could he subject his love to that? His love...His light... _Tal vez soy el cobarde_...

* * *

Time seemed irrelevant––all thoughts of what was to come faded away. He couldn't remember much, or if he woke up at all after being shot. It was fuzzy, and his head hurt too much to think about it. His days and nights were filled with wonderful images of his deepest desires. His love by his side and his children running amok. He had no children, Horacio realized as the endless dream drifted away. Things seemed clever now, the darkness fading away slowly. It was like he was awaking after a sleepless night. His nose burned from the distant stench of disinfectant and eyelids blinded by fluorescent lights. 

A soft voice, sweet and gentle, coaxed him from his slumber. He didn't want to leave its safety, his fantasies of a life that were more than work and Escobar, work and Escobar, work is Escobar. The voice grew louder, and the lights in the room dimmed after some quiet shuffling around the room. Confused for a moment, Horacio furrowed his eyebrows together as the words began to register in his brain.

“Good morning, mi amor, ” you cooed softly, reaching your hand down to actress your husband's bandaged cheek. It was so hard trying to contain yourself––wanting to just swoop down and kiss and love your husband.

Cautiously, Horacio opened one eye, checking his surroundings before letting the other open as well. You were above him, head framed by the dim white glow of the lights above you like a little halo. It took a moment, but Horacio eventually realized you were crying, fingers curled over the arm of the bed. “Mi torito, estaba tan preocupada.”

Horacio couldn’t speak at first, instead coughing painfully when the words failed to form. He managed a small ‘thank you’ when you brought a glass of cool water to his dry lips. Clearing his throat, Horacio managed a small smile, looking up at your worried expression. “I’m ok, mi alma. It wasn’t that bad, this recovery will be a piece of cake. _That’s what you Americans always say, right?_ ”

It was inevitable that your husband would jump right into normalcy even after having bullets tear through his body like a sack of flour. He acted invincible––not letting you see how much pain he was in aside from an occasional weary moan. You sighed deeply, used to your husband’s refusal to be normal for one goddamn minute. “Torito–” _You are so stupid,_ “You’re not coming home too soon. They shot you probably ten times or more and you hit your head pretty bad. I’m surprised you’re not concussed.”

“I feel fine, mi alma. It’s really not a big deal, I’ve been shot before,” he shrugged, trying (and failing) to get out of the bed. What was the big deal? He had a job to get back to, he couldn’t just sit around in the hospital waiting for his body to catch up with his mind.

You rolled your eyes, knowing he would stubbornly fight his way to an early recovery if it meant he would be closer to catching Escobar. It wouldn’t be long until he tuckered himself out and fell asleep again. “No no, you only almost died and are attached to an oxygen tank. It’s completely fine, I’m sure.”

He shot you a dirty look, not in the mood to play around. “Come on, mi amor. You know I can’t just stay here and do nothing while that asshole walks the earth.”

“Torito, do you even know how long you’ve been asleep?” You returned the look, angrily, trying to keep your tears at bay. 

“Two days? Three?” He offered, shrugging. Pain shot through his chest, and he let out a low moan.

“Try 2 weeks, Horacio. They had to put you in an induced coma because they thought you were going to die.” You choked on your words, tears welling up in your eyes despite your efforts to stay calm. “I-I almost lost you, mi-mi amor.”

“Oye, don’t cry, mi amor. I’m your torito, remember? I’m not going anywhere,” his fingers wrapped around yours, so much weaker than they were just the night before he got shot. You held back a sob at the thought of your last moment together––passionate kisses and desperate cries for a burning release. What if that was the last time you ever got to hold your husband in your arms? The last time he ever kissed you goodnight? The thoughts haunted you every day as you sat beside him in this dingy hospital room. 

“I know, baby, I know. I have to––“ The words got caught in your throat, and you couldn't bring yourself to finish the sentence. He watched you sleepily, eyes fluttering shut every so often until you worked up the courage to speak. “Horacio, we need to talk about something very important.”

“What is it?”  
You sucked in a deep breath, closing your eyes before opening them to look Horacio dead in the eye, lip nearly quivering. “You...You can’t go back to work. Even Gaviria is considering letting you retire after all of this.”

Horacio barked out a dry laugh before grunting at your serious frown. “Don’t be silly, mi amor, I’m not disabled––I can still do my job.”

Standing up, you squeezed his hand before leaning over to kiss his forehead. “The doctor said you won’t be the same. You won’t be _disabled_ but you’ll most likely have a limp.”

“Really, mi amor? A limp isn’t going to st–”  
“Horacio Carrillo, when will you ever stop? Are you going to keep doing this until you’re dead? When they can’t spend 15 hours in the ER trying to keep you alive? When they can’t jump-start your heart twice?” Your hands flew up to wipe away your tears before falling back to grip at the rails of his bed. “Baby, please, I can’t lose you.”

“I have a duty, mi amor, ” he growled, frustrated with the undeniable truth behind your words. Horacio wasn’t mad at you, he was mad at himself. He was fucking angry––enraged with Escobar and what Horacio’s life has become because of this man. You didn’t deserve this. You deserved the life Horacio promised you. One filled with love, laughter, children, and happy endings.

“You’re not the only one fighting in this war, torito. Leave this to la DEA. Search Bloc will be ok without you, they’ll manage.” You paced the length of his bed, nervously chewing on your bottom lip as you considered what to say next.

“I’m the head of Search Bloc, mi amor.”   
“ Por el amor de Dios, Horacio! There are other men qualified to do your job! You just spent a year in Spain and I couldn’t be with you for a single day of it. Do you even understand how much my heart broke every day while you were away? How fucking scared I was that something was going to happen to you there and I wouldn’t even know?” You yelled, stumbling back into your seat. “I just want to start a family, Horacio. I just want us to be safe and happy and not constantly in danger in this godforsaken hellhole of a country!”

“Colombia is my home, I’m not just going to abandon it!” He yelled back—The monitor next to him beating erratically. You rarely saw your husband in such an angry state, he always hid it from you. That dark, twisted side of him that he had trouble controlling was leaking through, fists balled up in the sheets and muscles flexed like he was ready to punch something. Instinctively, you scooted back from him, trying to stay calm. He would never hurt you––You knew that wholeheartedly, especially when he was incapacitated in this state. Realizing your movements, Horacio let up, falling back against his pillow, eyes narrowed as he quelled his anger.

“Not abandon...we can travel some. We can finally start a family, mi torito. We’re not getting any younger and the world isn't getting any safer.” You offered honestly, knowing that you couldn’t raise a child in Colombia without fear of it being targeted by Escobar. It would be best for him to retire now while he could. While he was still strong. “You won’t be weak for retiring, Horacio. You have fought enough battles, now it’s time for someone new to take up that mantle. You can be involved from afar. Peña and Murphy aren’t going to let you sit in the dark––and neither will Trujillo. But it won’t be your worry anymore.”

Horacio stayed silent, glaring off at some nurse who came in after hearing all the commotion. He sighed deeply, wincing at the stabbing pains that littered his body. “I’m working on paperwork until I get released, not up for argument. Then I’ll sort out my position with Gaviria.”

“Fine, throw yourself into work, Horacio. I'm not waiting around to watch you do it.” You huffed, abruptly standing and slinging the strap of your bag over your shoulder. Storming past the nurse, you didn’t bother to turn around and look at your husband––Far too pissed off and tired to dwell on this endless argument. “Te veo mañana.”

“¿No hay beso?”

“¡Vete al carajo!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut warning!
> 
> Sorry this took so long––I got caught up in some other projects. I hope everyone is doing well and thank you for all the kudos and comments! From here on out the series will be like, 80% smut and 20% plot ;)

To Horacio Carrillo, breaks and resting were things elderly people did or some lazy kids who just sat around in a breakroom all day. He blatantly ignored your complaints and the doctor’s stern warnings that he needed time to recover; burying himself knee-deep into his work. It became more or less a way for him to distract himself from the situation at hand. Every person he came across seemed so...ok with telling him that his career was over––it wasn’t. Not to Horacio at least. He didn’t want it to be over. Not like this.

You, on the other hand, had been throwing yourself into almost anything you could during his absence in your home. It was lonely without him, even more hollow of a place than when he wasn’t attached to tubes and machines a few miles off in a hospital room. _Patience,_ you tried to reassure yourself as you would sit out on the balcony outside your bedroom. _He will be home soon._

After he had awakened from his coma, the doctor ordered Horacio to stay another 2 weeks on bed rest in the hospital. In that time, he hadn't resolved the issue you had aroused, knowing it was still killing you inside. The argument hung in the air like stale smoke, the both of you choking on its complications but neither strong enough to fight back.

But you were right about his bosses and Gaviria, much to his dismay. They called for his retirement—the tiniest bit of lameness in his leg accounting for the decision. If he pulled out before things got uglier, they would pay him handsomely, not to mention his benefits and such from working. Stubbornly, like the little bull he was, Horacio refused. Money and retirement didn’t dazzle him, it was the rush of his work and the satisfaction brought each day he could return to your safe arms after putting another narco six feet under. He was never one to back down from a challenge, but he knew that his time was running short. 

* * *

The news of his release being approved had eased some tensions with you, both too ecstatic to get Horacio home to fight any more. The white walls of his room were a sight for sore eyes, boredom, and a blatant lack of privacy leaving him miserable. But your presence was welcomed as you entered the room, a duffel bag slung over your arm.

“How are you feeling, mi torito?” You asked softly as you pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. Setting the bag down, you undid the zipper, pausing as he spoke up.

“I told you, mi amor, I've been fine the whole time. I just want to get home, ” he sighed, shaking his head. You pulled out some clothes from the duffel bag, helping him lift his arms to remove the hospital gown. He remained silent as you dressed him carefully, making sure not to hit any of his bandaged wounds. You mistakenly did a few times, but he didn't do so much as flinch away from the pain.

“And I need a smoke, it's been too long.” He broke the silence.

“Colonel Horacio Carrillo—survives 10 bullet wounds, a fractured shoulder, and head trauma but dies of lung cancer. What a guy, ” you snarked, eyebrows knitted together as you helped him into the khakis you brought.

“Don’t talk like that, ” he snapped. You threw your hands up in defeat, pulling away from him.

“I love you, Horacio, that’s all,” you sighed. Stepping back, you let your stubborn husband attempt to slide his shoes on by himself.

He stood confidently, almost as if he hadn’t spent 7 minutes attempting to put his shoes on. You smiled in support, though, not wanting to kill the spirit he meticulously rebuilt during his hospital stay. Hand in hand with Horacio, you led him out into the bustling hallways, and a shiver ran down his spine. He was beyond relieved that he was finally going home instead of to another round of physical therapy, but every step reminded him of the ache that settled in his knee–The nagging fear of what was to come once he crossed over the boundary of the hospital walls and into the real world again plagues his mind as you led him into the sunlight.

After spending over a month in the hospital, Horacio soaked in the warmth of the sun as it danced across his skin. You had complained once about how he looked so pale beneath the fluorescent hospital lights, and he figured it was true. As you led him to the car, everything felt ok for a moment, like he was just going home with you after a long training session that kept him away from you for weeks. It felt safe.

* * *

You helped Horacio up the stairs and through the front door, a steady hand on his back. His eyes darted around quickly, observing any changes you may have made. It seemed several hundred times cleaner, not that you weren’t already neat, than before he left. Had you spent every day scrubbing down every reachable surface? He wouldn’t doubt it, honestly.

“Everything’s here, mi amor, ” you teased as you brought him over to the couch. He stifled a low groan as he sat down, which you quickly caught with a kiss. He kept a straight face once you pulled away, but his eyes screamed out the truth.

“You can be in pain, y’know, ” you chastised.

“No one wants to wallow in pain, ” he huffed, leaning back. Closing his eyes, Horacio leaned his back, tense shoulders dropping just a little. 

“Not that kind of pain, but…” You carefully settled on his lap, arms wrapping around his shoulders. He tilted his head to the side, quirking his eyebrow with a soft smile, knowing your intentions. Leaning down, your lips pressed against his hungrily. His hands flew up to squeeze at your ass, but you retreated.

“Stay here, mi amor. I have a surprise for you, ” you teased, nipping his neck. He frowned as you stood up, but remained still and at attention when you walked away. The dull, throbbing ache between his thighs pressed hard against the canvas of his pants, and Horacio bit back the urge to touch himself.

His head snapped up at the sound of a song’s low hum reverbing throughout the living room. “What is all of this, mi amor?”

You winked, fingers reaching under the hem of your shirt before lifting it off; a dark, lacy bra clinging to your skin and you moved closer with the beat, standing right before Horacio as you played with the buttons of your jeans. The act itself ended up way less sexy than you had hoped for, but it didn't matter—it was perfect in its own, clumsy way. Horacio’s mouth fell open, eyes raking your body up and down. 

“Mi—”

“Shh, just relax.” Your hands rested on your chest as you swayed your hips to the beat; focusing on nothing else in the room. The roll of your hips against nothing, the wet spot forming against the fabric between your thighs, the way you teasingly wiggled that sweet little ass in those tiny panties—it drove Horacio mad. It was something you practiced in your alone time while Horacio was in recovery—a fitting reward for someone who just went through hell and back. His eyes were trained on every curve of your body, but his resolve was that of steel. There were no blatant signs of your effect on him aside from the straining bulge that pressed against his pants.

Taking advantage of this, you opted to straddle him instead of facing away—hand bracing on one of his shoulders. You inhaled sharply as your clothes clit dragged across his length—the zipper of his khakis catching it here and there. Horacio stayed perfectly still, stunned and amused that this was his big welcome home. Moans and airy gasps dripped from your lips, Horacio’s cock stirring. He couldn't have asked for anything more, though. It was perfect. His hands threatened to brush against your exposed thighs, but you swatted them away.

“If you touch me, you’ll just have to take care of this yourself.” Rolling your hips back, your hand palmed at his erection.

"Mi amor...don't tease me like that, ” Horacio grunted, bucking into your palm. It was fucking torture to not be able to touch you; the time you spent apart finally getting to Horacio. You wanted it too, to finally be able to indulge in his body and sweet touches. But, you still had other plans—

“Like this?” Your grip around him tightened—lips ghosting over his as he hissed in surprise. Immediately, his hands flew up to grab your sides, but you were faster. With his hands caught, all Horacio could do was stubbornly squirm beneath you in annoyance. You tsked, shaking your head.

“Horacito, do I have to cuff you?” You gasped in mockery. The speed of your hips increased; pressing down harder until the smallest sound escaped his tight lips. His Adam’s apple bobbed and his eyes glanced to the side quickly.

_Throb_

"Oh? What was that? Do you want me to cuff you?" 

_Throb_

"Naughty boy, stay here," you cooed. Waltzing off the bedroom, you shuffled through a few drawers before finally grabbing what you needed—a pair of handcuffs Horacio had offered you on a night where the two of you had gotten a little too adventurous. Horacio couldn't help the way his mind worked sometimes, thinking about how you could easily slip out due to the size of your smaller wrists. He had tried to make them tighter—accidentally pressing too hard and getting your hand stuck in one. He was distraught by what he had done; holding you close to his chest and kissing your wrists gently despite your reassurances that you were ok. In turn, you had discovered that they fit your husband perfectly, and he definitely couldn't break out.

“¿Camisa puesta o apagada?” You gently tugged on the hem of his shirt. His head tilted to the side, eyes cast down as he weighed the options.

“En, ” he grunted. He didn't want you to have to look at his bandaged and scarred chest; it didn't feel right. Dropping the hem of his shirt, you kissed his cheek softly. 

“Buen chico.”

You hummed as you settled on his lap, chin resting on his shoulder. You played around with them for a moment before hearing the clicks. Hands locked behind his back, Horacio was completely at your mercy—beautiful too. Leaning back, you admired the way your husband’s muscles flexed as he tested the strength of the cuffs. He nodded in approval, leaning forward to kiss at the flesh above your breast. You let him for a moment, finally pulling away as he sucked a love bite against your collarbone.

“Hey! You're breaking the rules, ” you scolded. He shrugged, smoldering eyes gazing into yours.

“Doesn’t count, mi amor. Not using my hands—it’s not like you can lock my lips away, no?” He countered smugly, and you couldn't help but agree with him. Sure you could strip him of every sense and right until he was a shaking, deprived mess beneath your hold, but you knew better than to push him. He liked a challenge—a good one where he can fight for dominance in just one more aspect of his life. The good thing was that you just so happened to like a good fight too.

Suddenly, your fingers gripped at his hair—yanking his head up to look at you. A tight hiss passed through his teeth, but he was otherwise unaffected. 

"You like that, mi torito?"

“N-No, ” he gasped, years of interrogation training down the drain. He didn't give a flying fuck at that moment, though. The tiny sparks of pleasure and pain burned from his scalp to his dick, throbbing against your cunt.

“Oh, torito…” you cooed mockingly. “I know I don't like liars.” Pulling on his curls harsher this time, the airy noise was subdued by Horacio’s sealed lips; a playful smirk tugged at the corners. He was baiting you. You tsked as you stood up, stepping away from him with a cover hip. You saw the panic flash through his eyes, gears churning in his head before he finally narrowed his eyes.

“Niñita, por favor déjame tocarte, ” Horacio grunted. He strained against his binds, considering just standing right up and knocking you to the ground, but he decided you would rather him play along. “I need to feel you so badly.”

“Then admit it.”

“I have nothing to admit.”

“Shame; Have fun getting rid of this by yourself.” You wrapped your fingers around the outline of his hardened cock, a wet spot growing on the canvas of his pants around the slit of the head. Giving Horacio a few hard squeezes, you let go for just a second—giving it a harsh flick. Horacio let out a pained gasp, eye twitching when you turned away from him. “See you soon, baby.”

“ _Carajo_ , wait––” Horacio brought himself to the edge of the couch, cursing quietly. A small blow to his ego was better than being left a desperate mess, he figured. “I like it, baby. I like it when you pull on my hair. Cuando te pones duro conmigo.”

“Oh? Sweet Horacito, you are just so cute, ” you giggled. Turning back to face him, you ran your fingers through the thick waves atop his head, pulling him close to your chest. He hummed in satisfaction, kissing the bare skin he could reach at this angle.“Be a good boy and I’ll let you use your hands. But for now, it’s mouth only, ok?”

“Sí, mamacita, ” he groaned, mouthing at the swell of your breast before trailing his tongue down to circle around your clothed nipple. You shuddered at the stimulation, eyes meeting his dark ones—silently begging for approval. Nodding, you pulled back from him so you could unclasp and disregard your bra, letting it fall to the floor. Clambering back into his lap, you were eagerly greeted by his mouth. Immediately, he took a portion of your breast in his mouth, skillful tongue urging you to arch your back in pleasure. Pleasure rocked through your veins, feeling sensitive and needy from your time apart. As your hips ground down on him, Horacio let your breast go with a pop, shifting the same attention to the other; his eyes closed as he drifted into the peaceful state he was deprived of for so long. 

You let him indulge for a moment, fingers curled around his locks (you would have to remind him to get it cut sometime this week). Pushing him away a bit you caught his swollen lips, pulling off of him again. Shucking off your panties, you bent down to take care of his pants. His cock sprang free as his khakis pooled around his ankles—red and swollen, dripping with his precum. 

“I’ve missed you so much, ” you mumbled, fingers wrapping around his cock. He grunted at the sensation, bucking involuntarily into your awaiting fist. You gave him a few hard tugs, smiling as he moaned in agreement. “Been so lonely without you.”

“I know, mi amor. I'm here now.” Pausing at his words, you pressed your lips to his gently. He blinked slowly—So tired...those eyes had seen so much in the little time Horacio had been alive, though he’d argue against such an illogical statement. Shifting beneath you, he sighed in relief as positioned above him.

The tip of his cock pressed against your entrance, drawing a hiss from you. You had figured out years ago that the delicious burn of his cock would never go away—his cock splitting you in half as you sink down onto him. Every fiber in your body felt like it had been lit on fire, walls fluttering around him. Horacio tilted his head back with a groan, jaw slacked.

Moaning softly, you found an even pace—loving the feeling of every vein rubbing against your walls; the feeling addicting. You gushed around him, shivering at the sensation. Horacio’s mouth had found your chest again, peppering it in kisses and nipping hickeys into the flesh. That quick tongue—how it drove you absolutely mad. It snakes around your perked nipple; coating it in cooling saliva before Horacio’s lips wrapped around the nub again. 

“Shit...Just like that, cariño, ” you moaned. You quickened your pace, hand falling to his shoulder. The other supported the back of his head, a moan ripped from you as he swapped breasts again.

Horacio bucked up roughly, body curling against yours. His eyes went wide when you squeezed his shoulder for support, a twinge of pain shooting down his arm. “Fuck! Wait, mi amor. My shoulder, ” he groaned.

“Shit, I'm sorry, mi amor. I should have thought this through better, ” you huffed as you hurriedly uncuffed him. How embarrassing would it be if you sent him back to the hospital just because you wanted to be a little kinky?

Oh, how stupid you were. The keys barely slipped out of the lock before Horacio had a death grip around your throat. You gasped in surprise, squirming in his lap as you tried to throw him off. The flame of arousal in your belly was fueled with each constriction—each half the reason for your shallow breathing.

“No more games, mi amor. I'm in charge here and I always will be, ” he growled. His fingers squeezed tighter around your neck—pushing you until you were clawing at his wrist. You choked on your words, barely able to squeak as his muscles flexed, the sight making you drool. He eventually relented, and gasped sharply, pussy fluttering around him.

“L-Lo siento, pa-papi, ” you whined, hips bucking against his. You craved him, you craved his touch and the rough slap of his hips; bouncing on him to take away from the pain of his lack of participation. “Estaré bien.” 

“Eres una chica tan mala, cariño, ” he snarled, using his other hand to grip onto your waist. Every thrust drew a cry of pleasure from you, head thrown back as you tried to hold yourself upright. His free fingers dug into the soft flesh of your waist, surely to bruise you from the force. “You are lucky I love you.”

Horacio lacked the vigor he once had––inhibited by the stitches and pain that seared across his body, but he pushed through it. You were pliable above him, the only thought swimming in your head was your need for release. He growled something, but you couldn’t hear him over the buzz in your ears, pupils blown as you gazed down at his lips. The sounds in the room were filthy––moans and slaps and the wet drag of Horacio's cock against your slick walls echoing. The tight ball of desire within you began to unravel, pussy fluttering to the beat of your hips against Horacio’s. He knew what was coming immediately, stilling his hips and moving his hand from your throat to your cheek.

“¿Quién es el dueño de este coño?” He waited for a response, lightly patting your cheek. You pouted, looking away from him. Horacio tilted his head back, hand leaving your waist and going up to grip the back of your neck—holding you still before laying a harder slap across your cheeks. 

You held back a yelp, the tingling eased by his gentle palm. He slowly repeated himself, to which you couldn't help but give in. “You do, sir…”

“Esa es mi buena chica. You don’t cum until papi says you can, ok?” 

A soft whimper bubbled in your throat, but you nodded nevertheless. You were so close to your release, it would be stupid to disobey him now. Besides, only one of you is in the physical shape to deal with how Horacio would try to tame you. Satisfied with your nod, Horacio planted a soft kiss on your lips before pulling you down. He laid down on his back, propping up his knees behind your ass to create more leverage. You followed him down, one hand on his shoulder and the other curled around the cushion beneath you. Horacio gave an experimental thrust, grunting as your walls clenched around him. 

His breathing was ragged beneath you, eyes trained on your pleasured expressions. Your lips curled into an ‘O’ shape as the tip of his cock brushed against that sweet, spongy spot within you. Horacio’s fingers wrapped around your breasts, preventing them from bouncing painfully as he swiveled and bucked his hips up into you. Stars blotted your vision, thighs trembling as you tried to bite back your orgasm. His cock throbbed within you, his own release clawing its way through his veins. 

“Cum with me, mi amor, ” he choked out. His thumb moved to press on your swollen clit and you nearly cried out. You writhed above him as he swirled the sensitive bud around, panting through the pleasure. The cord pulled tighter and tighter until it snapped—a scream ripped from your chest as your vision seared white. 

A strangled grunt wrung itself from Horacio, your pussy clenching around his cock. His cum spilled into you in thick, hot, ropes—coating your already soaked walls. Flying up, Horacio wrapped his arms around your middle; face buried in the crook of your neck. Hunched over, he weakly pumped into you, eyes squeezed shut. You continued to grind on his lap, milking out every last drop of his cum until he was emptied. 

Carefully, your hips slowed to a stop—fingers running through the dark, close-cut locked upon his head. The room fell quiet, only the remnants of your shared exhaustion filling the silence in pants and breathless moans. Horacio pulled you down to lay on his chest, fingers running up and down your back.

“Te amo, mi amor, ” he whispered.

“Te amo, Horacito, ” you hummed, earning a scowl from your husband. Rolling your eyes, you pushed up with a gasp. “Horacio—your chest…”

Red bloomed on the white gauze that crossed over his stomach. He cursed quietly, giving you an apologetic smile. “You’re such a disaster,” you sighed, kissing his forehead gently.

You bit your lip as you pulled off of his softening cock, a low groan rumbling in his chest. Even when he was soft, that unbelievable thickness never failed to stuff you. His release dribbled down your thigh, but you didn't worry about it too much. Taking his hand, you helped him stand up and find his footing—leading him to your bedroom while he used you for support. 

You helped him into the bed, fixing up the pillows until he was in a comfortable position. Disappearing into the bathroom, you wet a cloth, letting the water wash away the mess between your thighs. Tossing it into the wash bin, you fished out a medkit and returned to Horacio’s side. 

Cleaning him up gently, you playfully covered his waist. “Don’t want you to get cold, ” you played it off with a wink, earning a grunt from Horacio. Peeling back the gauze pads and tape, you glanced away for a moment, heart aching at the sight. You’ve helped him plenty of times after missions, but this was different. The stitches that held his skin together made your skin crawl, but you bit your lip so you could focus. 

Horacio gave you an apologetic look, guilt washing over him. He wanted to reach out and tell you that he would do it himself, but he knew he needed you. The trained resolve was unwavering—not even flinching as you poured antiseptic onto an open wound before patching it up.

“I’m going to do it.”

“What?” You looked up in surprise at the break of silence, eyebrow quirked.

“I’m going to retire so we can finally...start our family. A safe family. I'll be involved a little, but only called to duty if they really need me, ” Horacio’s dark eyes bore into yours—searching for confirmation from you.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath. It—It was everything you ever wanted. Maybe not under these circumstances, but it was the only way it would ever come. “Ok...Just promise me one thing.”

“Of course.”

“We’re going to travel, just like we dreamed of when we were younger. Then, when or if I get pregnant, we come back home. And when we do come home, you stay safe.” You offered. “Please?”

“Mi amor…” He reached down, letting his thumb brush over your cheek. You glanced up at him, leaning your head against his hand. Strong, safe, and comforting. “I will be by your side, always. No more danger.”

“No más peligro.” You echoed, nodding with a smile. "Where will we go?"

"Spain... Because we want to. Not because we have to." He smiled, bringing you forward to kiss your lips. You sighed blithely, crawling into the bed with him. His arm wrapped around your shoulder, bringing your head to rest against his uninjured pec. It was calming and grounding. It was all you ever wanted…

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't speak spanish  
> Mírame––look at me  
> Cobarde––Coward  
> Tal vez soy el cobarde––Maybe I'm the coward  
> (Mi) Torito––(my) little bull  
> Estaba tan preocupada––I was so worried  
> Oye––Hey ( not greeting)  
> Por el amor de Dios––For the love of God/For fuck's sake  
> Te veo mañana––See you tomorrow  
> ¿No hay beso?––No kiss?  
> ¡Vete al carajo!––Fuck off!


End file.
